


At All Costs

by timelordvictorious1



Series: The Weight of the World [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Chronic Pain, Concerned Legolas, Exhaustion, Gen, Hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23043997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelordvictorious1/pseuds/timelordvictorious1
Summary: A look at the toll ruling a kingdom takes on Thranduil. Set before The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings.
Series: The Weight of the World [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661473
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	At All Costs

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Any thoughts, notes, comments, and constructive criticisms are appreciated!

Thranduil called his soldiers to action almost immediately. Some ten minutes ago, he had gotten the most excruciating, debilitating, burning pain course through his entire body. He tried to call out the second he began feeling pain, but it was such that it completely paralyzed him. It took all the strength he could muster to even call out to the guards stationed outside his door. The first call to the guards came out as a pained whisper, too faint for anyone outside to hear. The second was just barely loud enough to alert the guards. Such a pain could only mean one thing—somewhere, some part of his forest was on fire. His connection to his forest was both a blessing and a curse. Normally, that connection allowed him to enjoy the wondrous and fey nature of the forest while he remained locked away in his stronghold, buried under endless mountains of paperwork and the pressures of ruling a kingdom. But lately, orcs had begun to roam about the forest, pillaging, plundering, and murdering whenever they could. When their bloodlust went unsated, they turned their attention to the forest itself, often with disastrous effects on him. 

The soldiers of Greenwood the Great were second to none—in skill, bravery, and readiness. Led by the commander of the King’s army and their Prince, they were ready to ride out and lead the horde of orcs that were wreaking havoc on their beautiful forest to a swift and painful death. 

Prince Legolas was a sight to behold. Incensed by the mere thought of such foul creatures hurting a single leaf in his beloved forest, he radiated rage and a lust for revenge. These disgusting creatures would be made to pay. Normally, Thranduil forced him to stay in the palace when these attacks happened, but Legolas was not having it. He would ride out and defend his home. There would be no arguing about that. He was not worried about the oncoming battle. Something told him that they would dispatch the orcs swiftly and mercilessly. What did worry him was his father. He pleaded with his father not to ride out with them. He knew the physical and emotional toll these fires took on him. Legolas knew the pain Thranduil was in. Legolas frequently witnessed Thranduil writhing when he thought no one was looking. When the pain was bad enough, even Legolas felt a small twinge course through him. Legolas knew that the pain Thranduil suffered didn’t subside as soon as the fires were out. He hurt with the forest. He hurt when the trees mourned for their dead. He hurt when the trees struggled to heal and rebuild themselves. He hurt when soldiers died in defense of their homeland. He hurt when his citizens had to suffer at the hands of such hateful creatures. He hurt in the aftermath, when he gave all of his energy to help heal the forest. Legolas knew that Thranduil was always hurting.

He also knew that stubbornness was a trait that ran in his family for as far back as he could trace his ancestors. Ultimately, his father was the king, so he always had the final word. There was no one who could ever dissuade the king when he set his mind to something—no one except his butler, Galion, but even he knew when to pick his battles. 

Thranduil, for his part, tried his best to hide his pains from his son. He put on a good show. The worst of his pain he suffered at night, a time in which he could give all of his spare energy to his forest without any distractions. He spent endless nights writhing in agony in the privacy of his room, finding solace in the thought that at least there was no one there to witness it—no one there to witness his weakness. He wanted only the best for Legolas and tried to shield him from the horrors of the world as much as he could. Thranduil tried so hard to protect his son that he hid from Legolas the dragon burns he received many millennia ago. To his knowledge, Legolas had never seen them, nor would he—if Thranduil got his way. Thranduil didn’t tell Legolas that the pain was getting worse. He didn’t tell him that he felt weaker and weaker with every year that passed. He didn’t tell him that it was a losing battle, the enemy was getting stronger. He also didn’t tell him that the worst was coming. The enemy was building his forces and they would be forced into a war—a war he didn’t think he had the strength for.

Thranduil’s connection to the forest allowed him to quickly point his soldiers in the right direction. They rode hard and fast, all of them determined to make the accursed orcs pay for their crimes against their home.

At the sound of the fast-approaching horses, the horde began to ready themselves for a fight. But it was all a ruse. The elves had dismounted their horses and quietly positioned themselves in trees. It was hard to form a perimeter because there were so many trees burning. They were vastly outnumbered, one for every four orcs, but by the time the foul creatures realized what was happening, it was too late. They made quick work of the orcs with no loss of life—at least none on their side. They only had a couple of minor injuries—cuts, scrapes, bruises, and an arrow had grazed the shoulder of one soldier—nothing life-threatening. A good result, all in all. 

Now came the hard part. Thranduil dismounted his tree and sat cross-legged on the forest floor. It was at this time that the soldiers knew to make themselves scarce; their king needed all the concentration and power he could summon. Legolas stayed in his tree, observing his father at work. He never quite understood how his father’s magic worked and Thranduil changed the subject whenever Legolas asked him about it. It was difficult, being guardian of the forest—especially without a ring of power—and he would spare Legolas that life as much as he could.

“Legolas! You should be helping the others in searching for stragglers and gathering the horses” barked Thranduil.

“Yes, My King” replied Legolas through gritted teeth.

He climbed down from his tree and pretended to walk away. In reality, he hid behind another tree, a little further away, and tried to observe.

“I know you’re still there,  _ tithen las _ . You can’t fool me. I can’t do this if you’re watching. I need privacy.”

With a groan, Legolas truly left his father in peace. 

It took longer than usual, but eventually, Thranduil was able to summon rain clouds. He hoped it would be enough to put the fires out. It began pouring rain a few minutes later. If anyone distracted him, the rain clouds would dissipate and he would have to start all over again. He sat in the deluge for hours, until the fire was completely extinguished. The soldiers did not mind waiting in the rain, it was a small price to pay compared to the king. They knew what it took for the king to do this—getting wet was nothing compared to that. They also knew that getting a little wet was worth it if it meant the forest would be well again. 

Once the rain stopped, Legolas began to walk back to his father, before being stopped by another soldier.

“Give him some time. He’ll need it” said Feren. Feren was one of his father’s oldest friends and the only soldier in the entire army who ranked above Legolas. Legolas had no choice but to obey his superior’s command. 

It wasn’t until after the rain stopped that Thranduil was able to snap out of his trance. He hadn’t realized before that he was soaking wet. He was soaked to his core; he’d be lucky if his armor didn’t rust under such conditions. He immediately tried to stand, but that was a grave error. His legs wobbled before giving out completely. He crawled slowly to one of the extinguished trees. It was a good thing the soldiers knew to stay away for some time. He would have been extremely displeased if they came back to the sight of him crawling around like an infant. Once he reached the tree, he used it to support himself and make himself stand. He stood for a couple of minutes, ensuring that his feet were firmly planted on the ground before attempting to walk. Once he was sure he could walk without falling, he made his way to each damaged tree and began pouring some of his  _ fëa _ into each one. It was a painstaking process, but it needed to be done if he wanted the forest to heal.

It would be a while before the trees healed. He had done all he could, there was no more energy left in him. His horse, a large white stallion, had been waiting faithfully nearby. It was a well-trained, obedient horse and it knew the drill. The horse lowered himself, saving Thranduil the effort of having to climb atop of him. Thranduil slowly rode to the clearing where his soldiers were waiting.

All of the soldiers immediately stood to attention before breaking into a round of applause and cheers. They loved their king. He was a good, fair king, who gave his life and blood in defense of his citizens and their homes. 

The ride back was slow. Thranduil couldn’t ride very fast in his state; he was lucky he didn’t fall off his horse. No one complained of the slow pace, no one minded. The forest was safe for another day, and that made it all worth it.

Thranduil kept it together until all of his soldiers made it inside. He encouraged Legolas to go inside and celebrate with the other soldiers, who would surely be regaling others with stories of their bravery in battle. Just as he planned, only the stablehands, Feren, and Galion remained outside. The stablehands, knowing his exhaustion, gently helped him down. He was unable to stand, so Galion and Feren had to help prop him up. They helped him to his rooms slowly, stopping frequently when he just couldn’t anymore. They both helped him remove his armor and soaked clothes and helped him into something dry. Thranduil had completely collapsed from sheer exhaustion and fallen into a deep, deep sleep before either of them had even left the room. 

“He’s going to die if he keeps this up” whispered Feren.

Galion didn’t disagree with him. “He can’t just watch this kingdom fall into ruins. If there’s something to be done, he’ll do it. No matter the cost.”

Thranduil could have chosen to disconnect himself from the forest, to leave it to its own devices, but he was not that type of king. He was the guardian of the forest, and he had to protect it and his people at all costs. 


End file.
